The Invisible Hand - A crime novel

Chapter 14

"The flood of 2011. That was God trying to wipe Minot away," the preacher says.

He sits across from me and Sam. His long fingers peck at our fries.

We're in a booth at a 24/7 restaurant. The mediocre kind at the bottom of hotels. Outside the sign says, "No vacancy." Inside the restaurant is bare. Typical.

I figure we'll spend the night in Minot. Feel way too tired to keep driving. I'll collect my dick from Sam in the morning, then ditch her. Drive back to Betrug. Find out what the hell is going on.

"Didn't God say he wouldn't flood the world again?" Sam says. Seems to be having fun egging the preacher on.

She tugs the fry basket closer. It's her grub anyway. She paid for it.

The preacher gives her a look. Pulls it back.

"That's right. But Minot isn't the world. It's an exception because of the sin here," the preacher says. Eats another fry.

He'd spotted us five minutes before. Honed in like a crow on corn muffins. Started talking and eating our food. No introduction. Just a grin and a clerical collar.

I want to slap the grease off his face. This isn't the place for it, though. Security cameras everywhere.

"You really think that?" Sam says.

"Can you think of another reason?" the preacher says.

"Yes. The Souris River flooded," Sam says.

I remember reading about the flood. The Souris cuts through downtown Minot. They said it was a 500-year flood. Thousands left town for dry ground. You can still see rings around the houses that mark the water line. Glad I was in Betrug at the time.

The preacher wipes his hands on a napkin. "You've never been to Minot before. You don't know what it's like here. Or why God would want to flood it," he says.

I scoot the basket near me. Stuff down a load of potatoes.

"I was here a few years back. Didn't seem so bad," I say.

"That was then. This is now. Once the oil boom hit, it brought in people. All sorts of...people. Devils for the oil. Whores for the devils. Liquor for them all. Name a sin. It's here," the preacher says.

"Then why's it still here? If God wanted to wash Minot away, why are all these sinners still here?" Sam says.

I pass her the basket back.

"The water wasn't deeper than the sin. Couldn't wash it away. This fracking, it's like they're building thousands of inverted Towers of Babylon. Monuments to scoff at the Almighty while they pump oil and whores," the preacher says.

"So what are you doing out here?" Sam says. "Doesn't seem like the place for a man of the cloth."

"You're wrong. I came out here after the flood. Wanted to ease suffering of flood victims. Go through their houses. Help them salvage valuables, whether they knew they needed my help or not," the preacher says. "One place, it was a preacher's house. Abandoned. Found a box with his preacher stuff in it. Books, pamphlets, clerical collars. Like a preacher starter kit.

"I stayed many nights in the preacher's house, waiting. Never came back. So there's a gap in the ministry out here. I figured God sent me to that preacher's house knowing I'd fill it. Been spreading the good word ever since. Directing oil workers' money to my ministry instead of liquor and whores. Keep them from fracking straight through into hell. I was a wanderer before. But I'm staying put now that the Lord found me. His flock needs me too much out here."

Sam laughs.

"And I suppose these fries are considered an offering?" she says.

"The way the money is out here, it's surprising these aren't free anyway. But yes, it's an offering in exchange for my little sermon. Wherever you're going, be careful. Don't lose your soul in the process of making that money," the preacher says.

The preacher takes one final fry. Gets up to leave. Sam rockets to her feet.

"You might want to pay me for what you ate," she says.

"Oh, I forgot," the preacher says. Reaches into his pocket. Comes out with a business card. Flips it onto the table. "Keep this somewhere safe. It's better than money."

"Oh, I forgot something, too," Sam says. "Fuck you."

"Read the card," the preacher says. Then he's gone.

I pick up the card. One side is a phone number next to the words "For Spiritual Help on the Bakken, Call Reverend Jim for a Talkin'."

I flip the card over. The word "Seriously" is printed large. Underneath it are the words, "God made the entire universe. No problem is too big for Him."

Seriously.

Seriously.

Sparks something in my mind. Not sure what. I stuff the feeling away.

I pocket the card. Sam raises an eyebrow.

"You planning on making right with the Lord?" she says.

"Just a little superstitious," I say.

"Or stupid," Sam says.

She might be right. I don't feel like jinxing myself. Eat the last fry.

"I'm not the one with a lucky raccoon penis around my neck," I say.

We sip water until the waitress comes over. Asks if we need anything else. I say we do, a recommendation for somewhere to stay. She's got nothing. Everything is booked up. A lot of people sleep in their trucks, she says. I guess that'll include us.

I spot Sam slipping a steak knife into her backpack as we leave.

That's OK. I took one, too.

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